Geek Girlfriend Ch. 01

I'm not prone to stupidity, but the law of averages is going to win every now and then. So yeah, I'm not proud of it, but it happened. I spurted semen all over my laptop's keyboard.

I didn't even notice at first, I was so deep into my orgasm. I'd been edging for hours, chatting on IM, surfing my favorite sites. Finally I'd found the perfect video to end my night, so I blasted away, forgetting how high and how far and just how much I typically spurt after a night like that. And trajectory? Never considered, of course.

So I hit the bullseye, repeatedly.

After surface cleaning I could still see gobs and gobs of the gooey stuff underneath, and there were definitely performance issues right away. Three keys died immediately, and another four keys were dead by the morning. Being a laptop, I couldn't just pop off the keys - have you ever seen the microscopic pegs they use to keep laptop keys in place? I'd fooled with them before, on my previous laptop, when I'd spilled coffee all over it. I could never get the tiny, fragile pegs back into the equally miniscule holes beneath the keys without breaking them. That was the whole reason I'd gotten my current laptop in the first place!

I finally resorted to a hair drier, hoping to get the moisture out of there, and then I let the computer sit for a couple days. Even then, the seven keys were still dead. Fuck.

Next thing I know I'm at the computer repair place down at the local shopping plaza, pushing my laptop across the counter and explaining to the chubby, middle-aged technician that I'd "spilled a milkshake" on it. He only chuckled a little, thank God.

"You have no idea how many milkshake disasters I see," he grinned.

I fled.

The next Thursday morning I got a call from the repair shop, but it wasn't the man I'd met. It was a woman - a young woman, as far as I could tell. She told me the laptop was ready and we reconfirmed the cost of the repair. I hung up blushing. If she'd been the one to work on it, well, what if she'd checked my browser? What if she'd dug around in my files? They have a privacy agreement with their customers, of course, but I couldn't help it. I was nervous.

The chubster was there, at the same spot behind the counter, when I arrived at lunch time. A door behind him led to the workshop, but it was closed. No sign of the young woman. My heart finally began to settle. I paid the man, slid the laptop under one arm, and left the shop, exhaling a long, deep sigh of relief once the door closed behind me.

"Hey," a voice called to me. I couldn't help but glance that way. A young woman walked toward me with a fast food sack in one hand and a fountain drink in the other. She was small and thin, without much in the tits or hips department, but she was pretty. She wore her light brown hair in a ponytail. She was tattooed on one side of her neck. Dark-rimmed glasses framed her face with an aggressive rectangularity, only seeming to emphasize her light, clear gray eyes. Altogether she was the picture of a college-aged geek girl, making a little money between classes.

It was her, of course: the girl from the phone call. Embarrassment dropped on me like a piano. My chest tightened and my stomach tried to push right up through my throat. I averted my gaze and continued away from the store, off the sidewalk and into the parking lot, fumbling in my pocket for my keys.

"Hey!" the girl said again, following me. I stopped and turned, feigning surprise.

"Oh, you were talking to me?" I had my key in the door of my Jeep. I had the door open. I was about to slide in and make my escape. Yet manners prevailed. I paused, holding the door ajar, and gave her time to reveal whatever pornographic horror it was that she'd discovered on my computer.

"I like your Jeep," she said, gesturing with her cup at my Wrangler. "I drove one exactly like that all through high school."

I relaxed. A little. Smiling at her, I got in and lightly dropped the laptop on the passenger seat. Maybe she wasn't out to humiliate me after all. I patted the steering wheel and continued to talk to her through the open door. She stood just beyond its arc, sipping on her drink. Her t-shirt read Caution: Wet Whore stenciled onto a picture of a yellow janitorial sign.

"What do you drive now?" I asked, trying not to look anywhere at all, in case she might suddenly remember what a pervert I was.

She rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Scooter. I ain't proud."

I chuckled and she went on. "But my cousin's got a Prius. She lets me drive it back home sometimes when I go see Mom."

I nodded, "So where's home?"

She snorted and cocked her head. "Now that's a little personal, dude," she chided. "You gonna stalk me now?"

I felt the color rise into my face. As I tried stammering my apology she laughed and winked.

"Relax, man, I'm just fuckin' with you. No worries."

Whatever else she was, the girl was certainly bold. Confident. I took a breath and settled myself. Looking her over good, I finally stared her right in the face, taking in her petite beauty.

"I guess you're flirting, then?" I asked.

She nodded. "Yup," she smiled.

"I'm forty, in case you were wondering."

She nodded again. "Cool. I'm into forty." She took another sip from her drink, and this time I watched her wrap her lips around the straw.

She finished and winked again. "Or, rather, forty's been into me."

I grinned and felt the delicious thrill of blood beginning to fatten up my cock.

"But not in a long time," she finished. "Not since I drove one of those."

As I explained, I'm not stupid. "So you dated a teacher in high school?"

"Nope," she chirped. "Fucked."

I tried to imagine her as a teenager. She would have been scrawny, to say the least. But if her personality was the same then as it was now, it probably didn't take her long to get what she wanted, once she'd made up her mind.

She shrugged. "What can I say?" She cocked her head and took a long sip on the straw. "I'm just a sucker for ...dirty old men."

Busted. It was my turn to shrug. My face went hot.

She held out her hand, and we shook. "I'm Macie."

"I'm Jack."

She had a pretty good grip! Pumping my hand, then dropping it, she said, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Jack." She began to back slowly away. "Gotta get to work now, sorry."

"No problem, it was nice to meet you."

She raised her face a little, chin in the air, and looked down her nose at me through her glasses, which had slid down a little. "We'll meet again."

I smiled and ducked my head back inside the Jeep. "Yeah, I guess. Maybe!"

The girl stopped and squared up, shaking her head. "Not maybe, Mr. Jackson Allister Allbright. Tomorrow night, at The Pump. Ten o'clock."

I wasn't the kind of guy to simply cave; just on principle I bucked up a little. "Well now, I don't know..."

She stood her ground. "Well. I do."

We stared at each other for a beat, then she softened a little. "Just be there, dude," she muttered, turning away. "You won't regret it."

Then she was gone inside the repair shop. And it hit me.

Fuck. My laptop. Of course. She'd said my full name!

And of course she knew - oh fuck, all the things she knew - there would be no doubt I'd show.

* * *

The Pump was a dance club, really more an alternative bar for most of the week, but every Friday was "Ozzy and Harriet Night". That ostensibly meant straights, of course, or at least so far as the eye could tell. It was really a big dress-up night for the drag queens, but there were always a fair share of honest hetero couples in attendance as well. The DJ was a true master, and it was the kind of atmosphere where everybody could mingle and relax and really let loose.

I hadn't been in over a year, but it was still the same - a huge old warehouse that had seen a giant overhaul, with baffles in the open girders of the rafters, three huge disco balls (over three separate dance floors) light rigs splashing color everywhere, tables and chairs up on raised platforms overlooking the dancing, and a bar that stretched the entire length of one side of the massive space. Opposite the bar, the DJ perched up above it all in a crow's nest of sorts - what I figured was the old supervisory offices back in the day, the facing wall of which was now gone, replaced by a nest of sound equipment and one thin, sweaty girl beneath a huge pair of headphones.

I wore jeans and a blue Oxford shirt, sleeves rolled up, Sperrys, a little splash of Old Spice. Nothing fancy. I couldn't really do the metrosexual thing. I was sadly, squarely sticking out. Mr. Middle Age Fucktard, trolling for college ass. Macie was nowhere to be found.

By 10:30 I was into my third Red Stripe at the bar, when suddenly I felt a hand on my bare neck above my collar, dipping inside my collar, reaching forward, down, fingers on my nipple, gently stroking. I was frozen, surprised, pleasured. Beer bottle to my lips, I turned my head to see my gentle attacker - Macie smiled at me from behind her expensive lenses. Her face only inches from mine. Her perfume all around me, a wisp of patchouli and ginger, her lips coming to mine, her free hand on my beer, pulling it away. We kissed for two songs.

At some point I swiveled on my bar stool. She ended up standing between my knees, one hand rhythmically squeezing my cock through my jeans as her other unbuttoned my shirt so she could continue her assault on my nipple. My hands were on her tiny tits, braless beneath her child-sized plum-colored tube top, her nipples growing fat and hard under my thumbs. Her mouth tasted like clove cigarettes and whiskey. I couldn't help but groan as she ground the heel of her hand into my crotch. I was about to come in my pants.

"Hey you two!" came the bartender's voice. "Take it to the john! This ain't a fuckin' sex club!"

I gasped as Macie suddenly released my mouth, dick, and nipple all at once. Her eyes were wet and huge, her jaw slack. Her glasses were crooked across her nose. Her hair was up in a bun, her neck long and smooth, the tattoo on one side diving down across her shoulder and back out of sight. Her lips were red. Her lower lip was pierced with a silver ring, as was her left eyebrow, twice, as well as her left nostril and her septum. Her earlobes were stretched out around silver rings at least the diameter of quarters, inlaid with smoky green stone. She was breathtaking. And she was yelling at the bartender.

"Well, fuck YOU, Jerry, you fuckin' asshole! Like I would throw down in this shithole bar for your fuckin' pleasure! Where the fuck do you get off tellin' me what I already fuckin' know, you cocksuckin' goddamn queer!"

She was still between my knees, rail thin and trembling all over. The force of her rebuttal at such close range was terrifying, thrilling to behold. The bartender raised both hands and stepped back, nodding his head toward a point somewhere behind us. "Shit, Macie, I have to do my fucking job. Carmine texted me five minutes ago about warning you two, and I still didn't say a damn thing till he started walking over here."

Macie looked back over my shoulder at somebody - presumably this Carmine-the-bouncer - and smiled like a princess, giving him the finger. Turning back to Jerry the bartender she shrugged and asked for two shots of Powers. "Sorry, Jerry," she cooed, leaning back into my lap, "I was just excited to see my new man. Lost my head."

Her narrow, muscular ass ground against my raging hard-on, causing me to groan and reflexively reach to hold her hips. Jerry shook his head as he watched my suffering. "Macie... you're killing the poor guy." Macie shrugged and looked over her shoulder at me, winking.

"I know."

We downed our shots and hit the dance floor, kissing again, glued to one another. Her hand was in my jeans, in my boxer briefs, wrapped around my dick, stroking me slowly as our tongues slid every which way inside our wet mouths. She held her glasses in her free hand. I held her tits in both of mine, her tube top riding up against her armpits. Finally a hulking presence bumped itself against my back. A throat cleared. There was a tapping on my shoulder. Carmine.

We quickly put ourselves back together and ran to the bathrooms, the rules-free zone of any respectable club.

And we had to wait in fucking line. From our vantage point we could see straight into the doorless entry to the men's room, where two guys were leaned back against the wall beside the paper towel dispenser, while two women knelt in front of them, slurping away happily on their drooling cocks. One doorless stall was visible as well, with a knot of men and women inside it, hunched over what apparently must have been some high quality blow. One by one they slowly staggered out of the stall until only the gift giver was left behind, sitting on the toilet seat with an absolutely empty baggie in his hands and a light silvery dusting all over his forearms and lap.

We took our chances and got in the crowd jostling to get into the ladies room, which was around a little corner. Macie was still holding her glasses in on hand, while the other was patting at her bun.

"You are even more beautiful with your piercings," I told her. She grinned.

"Thanks." She stepped back and did a little spin. "I think I clean up OK."

Taking the cue, I finally took the time to notice the rest of her ensemble. She wore four inch strappy stiletto heels and a skin tight leather mini skirt that barely covered her narrow ass. Everything was in a shade of luscious plum - that deeply purpled red, so dusky, nearly a merlot. She had a small hand bag strapped around her wrist like a corsage, jade green like the stones in the silver tunnels in her ears. A tattoo of some kind of tightly intertwined pattern ran up from the top of her right foot and wrapped around and around her leg until it disappeared beneath her skirt. It was like Celtic-meets-Mayan, with little sprigs of leaf and flower popping out every so often.

"Took eighteen months right there," Macie said. The she lifted her skirt to show me how the design dove inward for her groin, obviously terminating somewhere over her fat, green-pantied vulva. She pulled my face to hers and kissed me again, panting into my mouth. "I'm starting on my left leg after Christmas."

Once the line gradually moved us out of sight of the dance floor Macie broke off our kiss and lifted her tube top again, pulling my mouth down to her long, fat nipples. Her voice was harsh, hoarse. "Suck my tits, Jack. Hard."

Two party girls in front of us squealed and pressed closer. One of them spilled her drink all over my back as she staggered in for a better look. "Oh GAWD girl, you must be, like, so horny for that daddy dick!" Macie grunted a "Fuck yeah!" and wrapped her fingers in my hair, holding me to my task.

The two party girls began making out, then, and a bunch of guys from the other line suddenly surged over to watch them, phones out. In the jostling confusion Macie yanked me through the knot of people and into the doorless entry of the ladies' room. Two of the three sinks held college girls, who were using them as piss pots, with a short line in front of both waiting to be next. The four doorless stalls were jammed full of women either doing drugs or fucking or both. The one unoccupied sink was overflowing in puke, with a girl sprawled beneath it, unconscious and covered in what appeared to be her own vomit. Another woozy girl sat next to her, holding her hand and patting her matted hair.

"OK, here we go!" Macie declared, pulling me right into the middle of the bathroom, shoving several girls deep in the throes of piss-desperation out of the way. Her hands were so strong! They were on my shoulders, shoving me down to my knees. Her crotch was in my face, her skirt pulled up above her waist. With one hand she held my head steady, by the hair, and with the other she played at the leg hole of her panties, teasing.

"All right, girls!" Macie suddenly called out, causing all but the drunkest heads to turn our way. "A little something extra!" She pulled her panties aside.

Revealing her cock.

Macie had a tiny little dick. Everyone around us gasped. Somebody started taking pictures with a phone. I was transfixed. Slowly, as if finally awakening from a deep sleep, her little cocklet unfolded itself from beneath its small hairless balls. In a matter of a few seconds it was pointing stiffly right at my nose, three inches of slender, rigid penis.

There was no talking. Not from anybody. Everyone seemed to hold her breath in that bathroom. Macie's fingers tightened in my hair, but she didn't pull me any closer. My own hands fluttered a little, finally resting on her trim, hard thighs, as I studied her boyish little treasure. It smelled musky and sweet, and it was already leaking a little precum.

Then she whispered down to me, so that only I could hear. "Well, Jack, this is what you like, isn't it?"

It all flashed in my head in an instant. Of course - my computer. All those saved pictures and videos and stories about shemales. Trannies. Preop transgendered females. Macie knew what I liked. She had what I'd always wanted. Holy fuck.

I opened my mouth and leaned in, engulfing her entire package.

Then all hell broke loose.

Every woman in the bathroom squealed simultaneously, and those who were not close enough for a good look pressed in on top of those that were. We were instantly knocked around and separated as women began to trip and fall over each other. I found myself buried beneath three hundred pounds of sweaty club girls, at least, with no clue what became of Macie, except I could hear her loudly shouting things like "Jesus Christ!" and "What the FUCK, bitches?" Then I couldn't hear her at all in the confusion.

I was stunned. Those precious few seconds when her cock and balls had been in my mouth - oh God - what perfection! So smooth and delicate and delicious. I had to have more! I struggled to get out from under the tangle of legs and asses that had collapsed on top of me.

I heard a girl somewhere nearby have a fit and start puking all over the girl beside her, which caused one of those horrid chain reaction pukes that sent more than half of the packed restroom into retreat, despite their need to see the freak-who-was-my-girlfriend. In the chaos of girls striving to navigate the puke-slicked floor, I finally found Macie sitting on her ass up against a toilet in the center stall, her skirt still around her waist and her little cock still hard and poking out around the leg of her panties. There was vomit between and all over her legs, and one of her heels was missing. Her hair was half out of its bun and trailing into the toilet. But she was grinning as I crawled over to her and kissed her spittled mouth.

"That didn't work out like I'd planned," she chuckled weakly, wrapping her arms around my neck and letting me help her up to her feet. Then she promptly puked all over my chest. "Oh GOD!" she squealed, then did it again, her body heaving with all the violence of a full, toe-curling hurl. I had her at arms-length by then, trying to get her turned around and aimed at the toilet. Three goth girls were on tiptoes right there on either side of the flush valve - still managing to pass a fat joint back and forth between them while avoiding the worst of the mess splattering all around. "Hell yeah, let it out," one of them muttered, as Macie ralphed for the final time, finally making it into the bowl.

Somehow we got out of the bathroom just before Carmine and his phalanx of bouncers charged in with mops and curses. The emergency exit near the restrooms was disabled and wide open. Most of the girls from the bathroom had fled directly into the back alley to find fresher air, and so did we.

I carefully walked Macie, now shoeless, farther back toward the fenced-off, darker end of the alley, away from the street. A bum lay on the pavement in a stupor in front of a dumpster, but otherwise we were alone. I steered her behind the dumpster and leaned her against it as I once again knelt in front of her, trembling. Her tube top was still up over her tits, and her skirt was still mostly up around her waist, but her cock and balls had slipped back inside her wet panties. I swallowed and waited, ignoring the rank odor that drifted up off my puke-soaked shirt and from her slippery, shiny crotch and legs.